


Sweet Dreams

by Asmexual Kingster (brethilaki)



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gang Rape, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Psychological Torture, no happy ending, non-graphic allusion to murder of child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brethilaki/pseuds/Asmexual%20Kingster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's death was not the first time he gave everything to save his sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams

It had been a long, long while since Jack Frost had felt cold. His normal body temperature ran somewhere below freezing, so lying naked in the moonlit snow should not have made him shiver. It didn't make him shiver. The cold he felt when black tendrils of shadow leapt up from the ground where they lengthened with the setting of the sun, when they fettered his wrists and bound his feet, pulled him beneath a bank of snow fresh drifted over a small crop of rock, when they tugged and tore at his already ratty clothes, pitch against the still-gleaming white of his snowy skin—that was a cold that clawed its way up to his throat from his heart and burned in the tips of his ears. That was

 

“Fear,” said a smooth voice from the darkness that bathed Jack's upsot form. “Can you feel it? It's sharper and more urgent than the loneliness you have accustomed yourself to.” A head materialized from the black. “Isn't it?”

 

Jack had been trying to scream, but the air escaped him noiselessly, sound caught by the clawing cold that constricted his throat. When he found his voice, it was high and thin and weak, “Pitch!”, and elicited only a chuckle.

 

“I... _delight_ in finding people's most secret fears. The deeper, the more potent, of course.” The shadow-fingers raked over Jack's skin and hair, brushing his nipples, caressing the insides of his thighs. There was nothing but terror in his breathless protests and widening, watering eyes (—nothing _yet_ ). Tears flowed like glaciers down his pale cheeks and hung off his lashes in tiny icicles. “Thus, the harder to find,” continued Pitch, admiring the feeble shudders, shallow breaths, and unfocused eyes of true, paralyzing, heart-stopping fear, “the more worthwhile once found,” he finished finally. Quietly he added, “You don't even know why you're so afraid. I hope we can resurface some memories you would have preferred to leave forgotten.” A hand appeared from the dark and grasped Jack's shaking thigh. He gasped, trying to push down something horrible forming in the back of his mind. Pitch would allow him no reprieve. “Your death was not the only time you gave everything to protect your sister—was it?”

 

“ _No!”_

 

“Your sister is a witch!” said the preacher's son, who was drunk on the power his position conferred.

 

“This isn't fun anymore, Isaac!” Jack's voice crackled at the threshold of pubescence when he spoke forcefully, making his protests sound even smaller than the scrawny, awkward body he planted firmly between his sister and the older boys—Isaac and his cronies. Young, well-to-do, and bored, intrigued by bedtime stories meant to scare them into obedience, they had made a game that quickly escalated and turned cruel. Physically weak and wielding a power that depended on the ignorance of the kind and sensible preacher, the gang preyed upon those smaller than they, those whose word theirs could trump. So when a girl went missing two months ago, it was easy to blame the wilderness, or even the Indians, and if another went missing today—well, the forest was a dangerous place to play.

 

“ _Help...”_

 

The vowels were silent for lack of breath. Pitch pushed Jack's legs apart easily, running his hands up and down Jack's body slowly.

 

“ _Stop...!”_

 

Jack heard the command echo behind him as he grabbed his sister in seeming slow motion and darted off through the trees. She clung to him and cried. Jack was a faster runner, but he was burdened and outnumbered. He ran until the older boys were out of sight, then stood his smaller, lighter sister on her shaking feet and told her to “Run as quickly as you quietly can! Stay out of sight, and don't look back, no matter what!”, then turned to face his pursuers.

 

“Where is your sister?”

 

“Leave her be.”

 

“She's somewhere near. Go look!”

 

“ _No, please...”_

 

Jack's eyes were half-lidded. The sudden, malicious smile Isaac gave him melded so exactly with Pitch's expression that he could not tell for sure what was real or where he was. His eyes squeezed shut in terror and confusion, and Pitch knelt above him, freeing his hardening cock to slide it over Jack's barely parted lips. “I can see what they saw in you,” he whispered gruffly.

 

“ _W-what?”_

 

“If you want us to leave your sister be, you will have to do what we say. We won't hurt her. Instead, we're going to have a little fun!” Two cronies grabbed Jack by the arms and lowered him to his knees. “This is sinful,” one voice spoke up uncertainly. “It is punishment!” Isaac said by way of justification. “This is the proper punishment for harboring a witch.” And because he was the preacher's son, and because his friends were also cruel and curious, there was no more dissent. Jack braced himself for a fight, but was slightly alarmed when he instead felt a hand ease his mouth open, parting his teeth wide enough to comfortably fit—

 

“NNNGM!”

 

Jack screamed into the blunt intrusion of Isaac's already half-hard cock, swallowing both with a wretched, choking sob as Isaac fucked his face steadily. Jack thrashed and tried to break away, but Isaac's cronies held tight his arms and knelt on his legs to keep them still. After failing to gain entry to his mouth, another dick began smearing tears and precome over his right cheek. “It does feel good to force him,” the owner admitted. As these words were spoken, Jack's shirt was ripped at the front, baring his chest and allowing another sticky cockhead to rut against his cold and hardening nipples. “He looks good this way,” its owner agreed. “He's so pliant, you would almost think him willing,” Isaac observed, trying to thrust far enough down Jack's spasming throat to fit his balls in Jack's mouth. “Maybe he enjoys it,” suggested the second boy, rubbing precome into Jack's dark hair. “He _is_ very noisy,” added the third boy, tweaking Jack's other nipple to elicit an illustrative squeak. “But soft,” groaned the second boy again. “And warm,” agreed Isaac.

 

“ _Hot.”_

 

It had been long, long while since Jack Frost had felt hot. Now, however, as tendrils of shadow teased the slit of his cock, coiled around the base, and fondled his balls, a flush began to grow on his pale skin like blood in snow. The glaciers cutting paths down his cheeks thawed into rivers and frozen tears dropped from his lashes like snow, melting on contact with his feverishly hot skin. “So hot. Please, no. Burning. Burning alive,” Jack murmured into Pitch's cock, which slid over his lips one last time before nudging into his mouth. Pitch gently tilted Jack's head toward him for better access to that hot mouth that opened reluctantly to take him. Jack's hips twitched involuntarily, desperately seeking more friction that the featherlight touches of the shadow-fingers were willing to give. The only substantial point of contact since his limbs had been released was just under the head of Jack's cock, where one wisp of darkness had wrapped itself to prevent Jack's release. “On fire. Too hot. Hurts.” Abortive veins of frost and ice blossomed over Jack's skin, only to melt seconds later. A last desperate defense, they blossomed and melted, blossomed and melted, until Jack was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

 

“ _It hurts!”_

 

Isaac moaned as he breached Jack's tight, resisting hole. Jack split his lip trying to bite back the pain, and the first drops of his blood to sunk into the snow and spread like a flush on pale skin. There was a groan, and come dribbled down Jack's chest, pooling in his belly button. His head was jerked to the right and ribbons of come painted his face and hair, where it stood out like like ice melting over soil. Isaac let Jack's upper half drop to the frozen ground, bending over him and holding his face to the soil and melting ice as he fucked in deep before twining his fingers in Jack's hair and snapping his head back to face the intrusion of another dick. Jack's own soft cock flopped pathetically beneath him as he was fucked from both ends, sliding off one dick onto the other, back to the first, in a rough, relentless rhythm. The boy in front of Jack raked his hands through Jack's hair, inadvertently massaging come and precome into his scalp. Soon his hands were pulling at the greasy hair as he jerked forcefully in and out of Jack's throat, balls tightening against Jack's lower lip just before he blew his load, leaving Jack hacking up specks of white, come dribbling down his chin as the boy popped out of his swollen mouth, trailing a line of saliva. Isaac promptly pulled Jack upright, back flush against his rapist's chest as the older boy bit down against his shoulder, giving a few more pounding thrusts until he was coming deep inside his screaming victim whose shoulder bruised now and scabbed with dried blood. Isaac let Jack fall forward off his cock to the ground where he shivered and twitched. A few of his still-unsatisfied cronies jacked themselves off over his used-up body, stripes of come flecking his back with the first flakes of a late afternoon snow, and Jack slipped into unconsciousness.

 

Jack awoke to Pitch's dick gently fucking his slack mouth. His eyes widened in panic and surprise, and he tried to move but shadows wrapped around his wrists and ankles again, holding him tight. Pitch tsked softly, grabbing a handful of Jack's hair and pushing him deeper down his shaft; Jack shook his head violently and mumbled muffled protests, but Pitch only sighed at the vibrations in Jack's throat. “You learned a lot from those boys,” Pitch drawled, “over the years. Why don't you show me what you learned?” He looked down into Jack's glassy eyes, quivering under pools of hot tears. Jack shook his head again, more slowly, fixing Pitch's yellow eyes with a pleading stare, sobbing deep in his chest. Pitch stroked his hair gently. “Or have you forgotten? Perhaps we should refresh your memory some more?” Pitch's grip tightened threateningly, pulling on Jack's hair. Jack closed his eyes and the blush on his cheeks deepened from involuntary arousal into shame, but he closed his lips around Pitch's cock and sucked in, running his tongue along its most prominent vein up to the sensitive tip, glancing up to gauge Pitch's reaction before quickly looking down again in shame. He pulled back a little, grabbing the base to steady it then started sucking in earnest, cheeks sucking in and head bobbing up and down. Desperate to finish, to get Pitch off before— before he could— Jack pushed the thought back and fondled Pitch's balls, trying a few tricks of his tongue that usually made his attackers lose their control. Pitch stiffened and pulled back, tsking again. “You're not going to get rid of me that fast, Jack,” he purred. “I still haven't taken care of you...” he brushed Jack's swollen purple cock absently, earning a shudder and a delicious keening whine. “W-what...”

 

“I'm going to do something for you that none of those boys ever did,” Pitch whispered soothingly, pulling out of Jack's trembling mouth as a slippery thin wisp of shadow prodded its way into Jack's hole, pulsing and stretching, “and I'm going to make you hate yourself for it.” The thread of shadow made a sudden jab at Jack's prostate, sending a twitch up his already aching cock and a scream up his already raw throat. “I can't—” he gasped, “I need—!”

 

“You need me to get you off?” Jack shook his head violently again and whimpered pathetically, “no, please, no, let me go,” but his hips rutted the air traitorously and sweat pooled in the crevices and valleys of his body. “If you insist...” Pitch withdrew all contact, ethereal and material, except the bonds on his writhing limbs and leaking cock, and the growing tendril of shadow opening his tight hole. Jack whined desperately and struggled vainly against his fetters, “let me go, let me go, I'm burning, let me go...!”, thrusting futilely into the empty dark.

 

Pitch watched for a few moments, amused. “Perhaps I can help,” he offered, lazily, sending a thin blanket of shadow barely more substantial than mist to tease the throbbing tip of Jack's cock. “Do you want me to touch you?”

 

“N-no!” Jack grated out stubbornly, losing the end of the vowel in a gasp as his prostate was stabbed again.

 

“Well, then I suppose I should just leave you like this?”

 

More sharply, “No!” Pitch smiled and reached up to wipe sweat-dampened hair from Jack's burning brow. “Then tell me what you want.” Jack licked his lips. “Water,” he croaked. Pitch twisted his nipple, making him squirm. “Is that all?”

 

“Please.”

 

“Please... what, Jack? Be precise.”

 

“Let me come,” Jack whispered, mortified.

 

“Louder, Jack, I can't hear you.”

 

“Please, Pitch, let me come!” Jack gasped loudly.

 

“Jack, I'm hurt,” Pitch looked into icy eyes that wavered between overcoming terror and stark defiance. “I had almost hoped you would beg me to fuck you into the ground.” Defiance flashed strong for a few moments, but melted into despair when Pitch spoke again, “Oh, well. I suppose it wouldn't strictly be rape if you begged me to do it.” He grinned venomously as he spoke, leaning forward to lick the shell of Jack's ear. The shadows preparing Jack's hole receded, holding his legs open for Pitch to thrust in. He hissed and rocked his hips into the quaking boy. “I'm _surprised_ to find you this tight, Jack,” Pitch groaned. “You were such a whore in your younger years...” he thrust in deep, finding Jack's prostate again and hitting it with every stroke. “You still moan like a whore,” he observed, “and you beg like a slut. Still on about letting you come? Yes, we'll get to that, boy, but my needs come first.” Jack was slipping into fevered blackness, but Pitch would not allow him that sanctuary. Leaning in to bite the tip of Jack's dick, he growled, “stay awake, and look at me while I fuck you.” Jack fixed him with an unfocused gaze from half-lidded eyes.

 

“Better.” Pitch smirked and freed Jack's legs from their bonds, lifting them over his shoulders and bearing down on him with enough force to travel in space across the rough ground with every thrust until Jack's head knocked repeatedly against rock. “Can you feel me, Jack? Can you feel me inside you? Tearing you open? Making your body love what your mind rejects? Give it to me, take me like the bitch that you are. A Guardian? Please. This is your place!” The restraints around Jack's wrists dissolved with Pitch's concentration and his hands fluttered up in a desperate attempt to jack himself off and be released of the heat that was making his head spin. Pitch no longer made any attempt to stop him, and even allowed Jack to come first in order to ride his own orgasm through the spasming of his hole. Jack cried out and spilt all over his front, going limp as Pitch rode out the last of his release, letting his soft and satisfied cock slip from Jack with a rivulet of come. Now free of consuming heat and pain, Jack began to lose consciousness, and Pitch stepped back to admire his work: the trembling, debauched form, resting in a nest of his own torn clothing and streaked with drying come and freezing tears. His lids were still half-parted, revealing dark and lifeless eyes. As Pitch watched, they fluttered shut and Jack's staggered breath fell into the rhythm of sleep. But the marks Pitch left would last. They would not let him forget, and would follow him even into his rest. Satisfied with this knowledge, Pitch smiled, “Sweet dreams, Jack,” and left him naked and broken in the snow.


End file.
